


Picking Up What's Left

by dizzy



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-13
Updated: 2006-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-17 15:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy





	Picking Up What's Left

Ianto finds himself lacking the strength to go home. He does what is required of him: weapons gathering, cleaning the trash out of the SUV, a cursory report to go in the files. He writes just small details that he's afraid will slip his memory if he waits too long.

His own bed would be a welcome comfort, but he's tired enough that the small back room cot he keeps is more than enough. When he'd arrived back at Torchwood, the first thing he'd done was to strip himself of his bloodstained clothes and change into the suit he keeps as a spare. He hadn't been tired then. He he'd still been coasting on fear and adrenaline, twitchy with energy. They'd all been like that, except maybe for Gwen, up to her eyes in painkillers and all the more blissfully relaxed for it. And Jack - Jack had been that peculiar mixture of too-serious and angry, his hands clenching into fists at odd moments before he seemed to remind himself to smile and act like everything was all right. Jack had his own ways of dealing with this sort of thing, Ianto knew. More often than not, Jack's method involved firing rounds in the middle of the night. Ianto knows because Jack never bothers to clean up after himself. Ianto inevitably winds up sweeping up the shells and hanging out the targets the next morning. Once, he found Jack still there, sitting against the wall staring at his gun a few feet in front of him on the floor. Ianto hadn't said anything, just gone to fetch Jack some coffee and to collect the broom and dust pan.

Now Ianto takes off his jacket and shoes and loosens his tie, but everything else stays on. He lays down on top of the scratchy blanket. His eyes are barely closed before he's asleep.

He takes a few hours later to find Jack standing over him. He wonders if he's dreaming to begin with. He's dreamt about Jack before, but those are the dreams that he doesn't allow himself to think about unless he's very, very drunk.

Still, what a nice face it is to look upon. His eyes focus slowly and he realizes that this is no sleepy fantasy. Jack's really towering over him.

"What a sad sight this is." Jack smiles.

Ianto struggles to sit up and clear his mind. "Jack."

"Don't get up on my account." Jack says. He kicks a leg of the bed and it squeaks in protest. "Unless, of course, you want to actually get a decent rest on something besides this rust bucket."

Ianto tries to understand what Jack is saying. He shakes his head a little, and his temples pound. Fuck it all, but he could use a cup of tea if Jack's going to insist on talking. What would Jack say if Ianto asked him for a nice cuppa?

"Come on." Jack offers his hand and Ianto takes it warily because he honestly isn't sure if he has the strength to get up on his own. "You stay here tonight, you'll ten times as sore. You need a real bed and I just happen to have one I'm not using."

As soon as Ianto is on his feet, Jack lets go of his hand and starts walking. Ianto follows, not even remembering to collect his few things. They ends up in Jack's personal space, the one area of Torchwood that Ianto does not clean as part of his duties. He's only seen it a handful of times, mostly fetching Jack when someone had a problem or made a discovery that required his attention. The most vivid memory is the time Ianto went to get him only to find that Jack wasn't alone. He won't soon forget the image of Jack sitting on the bed with a woman kneeling between his legs.

"So what kind of damage did they do to you?" Jack asks.

Ianto blanches. He finds himself wishing that he'd just given himself a brisk slap on the face and driven on home. He does not want to be here, with Jack, on Jack's terrain. He's beaten and weak and tired, not up to the particular brand of mindfuck that Jack so often indulges in. "Sir, if you don't mind-"

"It's just a question, Ianto. I know how stoic you are. You could have three broken ribs and you probably wouldn't tell anyone."

Ianto still does not respond. Jack grows visibly annoyed. "Do you need me to order you to disrobe?"

"That might be harassment, sir," Ianto says, surprising himself and apparently Jack, too. Jack flashes a grin at him and is probably about to make a smart remark when Ianto quickly looks down. His expression must give away more than he intends, because Jack doens't say anything.

Ianto raises his hands and they hover for a few seconds before undoing the buttons on his shirt. Underneath, he wears a white cotton t-shirt.  
He lifts it up to show Jack the smattering of livid bruises.

Jack winces. "Is that the worst of it?"

Ianto hesitates, but takes the undershirt off completely. There's a much deeper bruise just below his collarbone, and the flesh around it is pink and raw. "That's the worst, I believe."

"Oh, Jesus, Ianto." Jack steps forward and brushes a finger feather-lightly across the bruise. It doesn't hurt, but Ianto flinches back anyway. "Have you put anything on it?"

"No," Ianto says. "I haven't had the time."

"Well, you have it now. Sit down, make yourself at home. I'm going to get one of the first aid kits." Jack says. When he comes back, Ianto has his shirt back on.

"You're normally much better at following instructions than this," Jack says. "Off with the shirt."

"Sir," Ianto looks down at the ground. "I'd rather not."

"Rather not what?"

He hesitates. "I'd rather not heal."

Jack rolls his eyes. "Don't give me that crap."

"I'd rather not have your help, then," Ianto says. His eyes are cool when he looks back up.

"Well, now." Jack says. "That's more like it. Fine, you don't want my help, I won't force it on you. Do it yourself."

Ianto takes the first aid kit from him and starts to leave, but Jack's hand on his arm stops him.

"Stay here. I'll leave." Jack pushes him back toward the bed. "You still need a good night's rest."

"And you don't?" Ianto snaps back.

"No, actually." Jack smiles at him, not the least bit ruffled. "I don't."

Jack leaves. Ianto spends a few minutes spreading antibiotic ointment (a cream that is almost certainly other-worldly) over the bruises. He falls asleep on sheets that smell like washing powder, with only a hint of Jack.

He wakes up hours later. His limbs feel heavy and his head aches. He can't find a clock or a watch anywhere in the room, but he knows with the certainty of someone that keeps a regular schedule that this is the most sleep he's gotten at any one sitting in at least a year.

His chest aches and he takes care not to breathe in took deeply as he sits up. The ointment helps, but there's still pain. God, what would it have felt like if he had really just left it alone? He can't imagine. He wonders about Gwen, briefly, and hopes that her bloke is taking good care of her. He can't imagine being shot. The idea makes him sick. How can they sign on for this, expecting it? They are better people, Ianto thinks, than I am.

He has slept in his trousers and the undershirt, and finds the button up on the floor by the bed. He puts it back on and walks barefoot down the corridors until he's in the main centre of the Hub.

The clock on Tosh's desk tells him that it's past noon. He's slept for twelve hours, at least, but the Hub is still abandoned.

"I gave everyone the day off. I figured we can hold things down here." Jack says, walking down the stairs. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, sir." Ianto looks up at him. "I should-"

He stops. He isn't sure what he should do.

"I washed the stuff you wore yesterday. If you want to take a shower and get dressed, that'd be fine." Jack says, hanging Ianto a bag.

"You washed?" Ianto is surprised.

"Yeah, what do you know, right? Miracles happen." Jack grins.

Ianto offers a small smile at that. He feels just fractionally less hollow than the previous night (week, month). "I suppose so."

"You're okay?"

"I am. I think." Ianto's hand covers his chest just above his heart, where the worst of the bruises are. Jack's expression shifts to such genuine... Ianto can't even think of a word for it. Compassion, concern, but something deeper. Ianto is momentarily overwhelmed. "It hurts, Jack."

"I know. Gave you one hell of a fight." Jack says. His smile is lost in something deeper for a moment, before he adds, "Didn't they?"

"They." Ianto takes a steadying breath. "They did. But I fought back."

"You did. You're strong like that, you know? Stronger than you think." Jack puts a hand on Ianto's shoulder and squeezes it. The touch lingers, and Jack draws it up to cup Ianto's jaw. His thumb brushes back and forth on Ianto's cheek.

Ianto holds absolutely still for about four seconds, and then crumples. "I'm not, though. I'm not, Jack. Not like the rest of you."

"You just need time. You're getting past it, okay? Every day you come in here and you look a little more alive." Jack says to him. Ianto knows that they aren't talking about the cannibals anymore. "You even look at me once in a while like you don't absolutely hate me."

"I don't-" Ianto closes his eyes. Jack's palm heats his flesh still. "I do, sometimes. But not always."

"That's all I ask." Jack's mouth presses against Ianto's and for a few moments, Ianto can't do anything but let it happen. He kisses back only briefly, a damp tug of suction when his bottom lip is caught  
between Jack's.

He has forgotten how nice it is to kiss someone. It ends too soon, even as he curses himself for wanting it to keep on. Maybe he doesn't hate Jack at all anymore. He can't tell. Everything is too confused, emotions all splashed together like paint on a canvas, mixing and dripping down to form something ugly and unpleasing to look at.

"Jack." Ianto whispers miserably.

"You can go home if you want," Jack says. He picks up a file folder and idly flips through it. "We start up like normal tomorrow."

Ianto ignores him and picks up an empty plastic soda cup from Gwen's desk. He has no bag to put it in, his shirt is still unbuttoned and he isn't wearing shoes, but he collects the trash anyway until his hands are full. He goes into the kitchen to find his cleaning supplies.

"Have it your way, then." Jack watches him walk away, and then shrugs with a smile.


End file.
